Generations of Aces
by Old Iron
Summary: Sometimes the most chance of meetings can have the greatest impact on our lives and our futures. Take a glimpse into the meeting which did so for Takamachi Nanoha.


I have another short for you all. Life has been incredibly hectic as of late, so I apologize to those of you wanting me to crank out more Swords & Shields. But hopefully this will tide you over. I'm not putting it in Scrap Iron because I don't really want to put it with my random drabbles and have it get lost.

Not my usual fare, but I hope you enjoy it. The usual disclaimers apply and comments and criticisms are greatly appreciated.

And have a happy holidays!

-START-

As a child, she had been here once before.

Perhaps not older than even seven years old at the time.

She couldn't quite remember why her family had decided on the trip in the first place. It was on the other side of the world and not exactly the first choice of vacation destinations. Not in any way she could personally see at any rate.

But one of the places they had visited would remain with her forever.

And it was where she now stood again some fifteen years later.

It was an airbase. Not the largest around, certainly. But it held such a history shared by only a few others in the world.

This was one such place in Great Britain where airmen took to the skies in World War II.

Where they donned wings of steel to defend their lands and defeat their foes.

When Takamachi Nanoha had come here, there had been an airshow.

Sure, she had been entranced by the stunts and aerial acrobatics performed by the myriad collections of aircraft. But there was little else to it. Even as a child, she felt it was little more than a show. The feeling dampened her excitement, even as she ducked for cover when she thought a pair of jets doing a flyby would crash into one another.

They were little more than flying machines to her. And she couldn't quite grasp what had so entranced Kyouya. Maybe it was a guy thing? Or maybe she was too young to understand.

As the planes began to land, her father had taken her around to see the sights. Looking back, he seemed to have appeared a little sheepish for dragging his youngest to something she didn't seem to be enjoying. How were either to know what it was which would truly capture her attention?

For the show, numerous hangars which were normally closed off to the public were now available to the public. Their massive doors opened wide to accept visitors and those curious about what sort of aircraft lay within. Nanoha saw all manner of machine. Helecopters. Jets both fighter and bomber. There was even a biplane, carefully built for public display and painted in the colors of someone called the "Red Baron".

She recalls seeing it towed away not long after glimpsing it. It would later participate in a mock dogfight against what she had been told was a replica plane of French origins from the same era.

But what truly began to catch her eye was the great steel beasts from the second great war. Their pilots standing nearby in full dress unifrom if able and some clad in their aviator garb.

It was this which caught her heart more than any other sight she saw that day,

Nanoha supposed it must have shown on her face as her father led her closer to the scene.

It mattered little she couldn't understand the words of the aged airmen. There was a history here. A history of the sky. An aura of something so potent, she could not help but be drawn to it. With an almost reverent silence, she walked towards one of the planes.

It was massive.

Painted silver, white, yellow and grey. A prominent stenciling of a star and bars stood out upon its side. Next to it were the english letters she recognized from class. USAF.

At some point in her awe, an old airman strode over. Some might say he hobbled upon his cane, but those who said so would be blind. He said something she couldn't understand and her father spoke to him in reply. She was aware of them conversing for a bit until the old man walked up to stand next to her.

His voice was gravelly and ancient, full of an experience her childish mind could not fathom. He spoke in english, but slow and intentioned. He wanted her to hear the words even if she might not understand them.

"P-51 Mustang. United States Air Force."

She looked up to the airman with some measure of confusion at the words before it finally clicked. This was the name of the plane. And who flew it. Was this his plane? Did he fly this great metal bird?

With some amount of awkwardness, she asked him if he did. Of course he didn't understand. He didn't speak Japanese. However her motioning between him and the plane seemed to convey the question. The old man shook his head in the universal negative before pointing over to another plane not far away. He motioned for her to walk with him, shooting a glance to Shiro who nodded and began to follow close by.

This plane was smaller than the Mustang. But no less awe inspiring.

Forest green with a large circular emblem in the place of the star she had seen before. The wings had a different shape to them and it seemed less bulky overall. If the Mustang was hard, then this one was more rounded, sleek.

Again, he spoke. Brushing his whitened mustache as he did so and with a tone of fondless and admiration anyone could hear.

"Supermarine Spitfire. Royal Air Force."

This was his plane. The aircraft which had taken him into the skies to fight and had brought him home to rest. His history lay with this great machine. It was this one which made him into a pilot.

Nanoha could not help but let an awed sound pass her lips. The airman laughed and turned to her father. They exchanged words and Shiro asked her if she would like to see more.

She could not nod her head eagerly enough.

For the rest of the day, they walked around the hangars. The old man telling her the name and branch of each and every plane they came across.

Some were spoken of with fondness.

"Hawker Typhoon. Royal Air Force."

Some admiration.

"P-38 Lightning. United States Air Force."

Others a grudging respect.

"Messerschmitt 109. Luftwaffe."

And some with an amusement she did not quite understand.

"Yakovlev 9. Soviet Air Force."

There were even a few stories he told. Both of his own time in the heavens and of friends and comrades.

Even with her father translating the tales, there was no impact lost in the images she saw in her mind. She could see each and every battle. Every harrowing moment. Each narrow escape. Victory, both satisfying and bitter.

The old pilot seemed to grow more and more lively and animated as he spoke. As though passing on his history brought it to life again. Even her father seemed entranced by the life this man had lived. And with each passing moment, the desire grew. The desire to take to the skies like he had. To soar through the heavens on mighty wings.

To _fly_.

Nanoha recalled vividly the end of the day. When it was time for the airshow to close and everyone to return to their hotel. She had turned to say goodbye to the veteran who had taken so much of his time to show her and her family around when she truly saw the man.

Well kept white-gray hair, still full despite his apparent years. A sharp jawline matching stern and aged features. He was tall, even slightly hunched as a strong, gnarled hand held a wooden walking cane. His uniform was pressed and immaculate, giving almost no sign it was over half a century old. Boots polished to a mirror shine and what medals he wore gleamed in the light of the hangar.

Yet those eyes of his.

Hawklike and grey, Nanoha felt if she were to have met this man when he first took to the skies, they would be the same.

Eyes which looked to the heavens, not as someone tied to the earth, but as someone who soared through them.

Their eyes met and the past looked into the future.

He reached into his pocket after a few moments and withdrew something. It glinted when the light struck it. Holding out his hand, he waited until she reached up to accept what was hidden. A weight dropped into her tiny palms and she looked to see what she had been handed.

Wings.

A small metal pin depicting the wings a pilot was granted.

They were of no official capacity. They carried no history. Yet there was a message conveyed in these fledgling wings.

_Fly_.

So struck was she by the power of such a simple gift, Nanoha almost did not hear the sound of the airman clearing his throat to grasp her attention. She looked up, almost completely unaware of her surroundings. Not even the nearby presence of her father registered.

He saluted, speaking in the ancient voice he carried as he did so.

"Wing Commander Montgomery Williams. Royal Air Force. Retired."

Nanoha swallowed the lump in her throat as she grasped the pin tightly in her left hand. She straightened her back and looked him in the eyes once more. Bringing her right hand up in as close a mimicry as she could, she returned the salute. There were no titles to her name. Nor descriptors of any sort suitable. But she could give him at least this: her name.

"Takamachi Nanoha."

They stood there for a moment in time, each saluting the other as some unspoken torch was passed from the old man to the young girl.

He lowered his hand and nodded. An expression of approval on his features. He spoke to her father briefly, words she could only guess at their meaning. Yet Shiro nodded in some manner of pride and gratitude.

The airman turned to leave and Nanoha swore she saw something there. Perhaps it was the fact she had still been a child at the time and prone to an overactive imagination. Perhaps it had been tiredness from the day. It could have been anything.

Yet as he began walking away, she saw others walking alongside him. Some were there in an instant. Others making their way to him from the planes in the hangars. Ghostly figures. Men of every age, era, and nation. All clad in the attire of an aviator.

Pilots.

Each and every one of them.

And some part of her knew. Somewhere deep in her heart, she knew.

Each of them... Aces.

Blinking out of her reverie, a twenty-two year old Nanoha stared at the memorial on the base. Deep emotions welled up within her as she read down the list of names.

She smiled sadly as she ran a finger across the name of the man who changed her life. Even if it had been only one meeting, the impact had been profound. It was too bad there were so many things preventing her from telling him how she had finally taken to the skies.

But as the treasured pin upon her breast gleamed, she had a feeling he knew.

"Thank you."

And before her stood once more, the ghostly figures of times past. Some smiling. Some saluting. Others joking and a few stern. A German looking man gave her a grin and a thumbs up as one of Russian descent punched him in the arm with some measure of joviality. It was an irony which nearly made her laugh.

Yet standing front and center, his features younger but no less powerful or wise, was Wing Commander Williams. His gaze just as stern and sharp as she remembered.

Nanoha smiled for a moment before schooling her features. She snapped her heels together and saluted him, him and every airman there, with a textbook perfect salute.

They returned the salute in unison as she announced herself.

"Captain Takamachi Nanoha. Time-Space Administration Bureau Air Force."

As the congregation began to fade, she would swear she heard a voice. A voice she would never forget.

"Well done, Captain. Well done."

Nanoha smiled as she did an about-face and began walking away. She had work to do.

She had fledglings to instruct.

Young flyers to teach.

Another generation of aces to inspire.


End file.
